For As Long As It Takes
by Jenksel
Summary: With the help of a certain 'ghost whisperer', Elaine de Corbinec finally has the chance to reconcile with her son, Galahad.


Melinda Gordon, a young woman with long, dark chestnut hair and brown, doe-like eyes sat at the sales counter of her antique shop, called Same As It Never Was, and paged through a sheaf of loose papers. They made up the inventory list of the contents of the old Appleby mansion, a consignment job that she'd been lucky enough to snag on behalf of the heirs of the mansion's last owner, Silas Appleby. Before his death Appleby had at one time been a professor of anthropology at Rockwell University. His house was filled with all sorts of odd and unusual items that he collected from all over the world, a lifetime's worth of memories. Melinda thought it was sad that Silas's only living relative had no interest in keeping any these things. But, she thought with a sigh, it _was_ good business for the shop.

Melinda checked her phone. It was almost closing time, but there was still a handful of customers browsing the merchandise. A young man and woman were looking over a Tiffany lamp. A couple was looking at a set of Franciscan Rose china, the two women chatting quietly but excitedly about their upcoming wedding. A college-aged girl was going through a box of vintage postcards. An elderly man and his granddaughter were perusing a shelf of old leather-bound books. These last two made a memorable pair: The old man was nattily-dressed in a three-piece tailored suit with a bright red bow tie, while the granddaughter was arrayed in lemon-yellow, white polka-dotted miniskirt and tight-fitting turquoise sweater. The young shopkeeper stifled a yawn and turned her attention back to the inventory.

"You! Girl!" Melinda nearly jumped out of her skin at the sudden loud, demanding voice coming from directly in front of her. Fortunately, none of her customers seemed to have noticed her fright. She slowly raised her head and looked surreptitiously at her visitor. Her large eyes widened momentarily at the sight of a middle-aged woman dressed in what looked like medieval garb. The young woman sighed, frustrated.

"Great," she muttered to herself. "Another 'customer'."

Melinda Gordon had a special ability: She could see and speak with the spirits of those who had died, but for whatever reason had not crossed over the threshold between this world and the next. Usually it was because they had unfinished business with their loved ones, or because they had died an unpleasant death that needed some sort of rectification, such as a murder. The young medium helped these souls to do that, helped them to find the peace they sought so that they could finally cross over as they were meant to do. Melinda had never met a ghost older than a couple of hundred years, though. Surely this wasn't _really_ a medieval-era spirit? Melinda couldn't even begin to guess what this ghost's problem could be. And no matter how long she lived, she'd never get used to the way some ghosts just…_appeared_ and demanded her assistance.

"I can't help you right now!" she whispered urgently, her eyes darting around the store at the customers. No one else could hear the ghost speaking, but they could still hear Melinda well enough if she wasn't careful. "You'll have to come back later!" The older woman stood at her full height of four feet, seven inches and peered imperiously down at Melinda.

"I shall do no such thing, girl!" she snapped. "I need your help! I _command_ you to attend me!" Her accent was unusual; it was lilting and musical-sounding, almost like an Irish accent, but _not_ Irish. Melinda rolled her eyes. This ghost was quickly sizing up to be one of the pushy kind.

"I can't!" she whispered again. "I have customers! As soon as they leave I can…"

"NO!" shrieked the woman, her face suddenly twisting in an expression of sheer despair. "No! Please! You must not let him go! I must speak with him! I have followed and waited for so many years, just to speak with him! To tell him how sorry I am! _You must not let him leave!_" She was practically screaming now. Melinda, panic-stricken, held her hand up slightly in a gesture of placation.

"_Shhh_! Okay! Okay!" she murmured, trying to keep her voice under control. The ghost immediately quieted and turned her sad black eyes to Melinda expectantly. Melinda glanced around the shop again. Seeing that no one was paying her any attention, she turned back to the ghost.

"Who is 'him'?" she asked calmly. "How long have you been trying to speak with him?"

"Since the day of my death, during the reign of Arthur Pendragon!" the woman whimpered, then buried her face in her hands. "My son! My son! Forgive me!" Melinda's jaw dropped.

"Arthur Pendragon?!" she gasped softly in astonishment. "As in, _King_ Arthur Pendragon?!"

"My son! My Son! You must help me speak with my son!" the ghost shrieked, ignoring her question. This ghost was not only pushy, but apparently also very confused. It's hard to die during the reign of a fictitious king, after all.

"Your son?" Melinda repeated, deciding to focus on the problem at hand. There were only two men in the shop, neither of which looked like prospective candidates. "Which one is your son?" The woman turned and pointed directly at the old man with his granddaughter.

"There!" she cried. "My son! My boy! My Galahad!"

"You have _got_ to be kidding me!_"_ Melinda whispered, cocking a disbelieving eyebrow. "You actually named your son 'Galahad'?" The distraught woman nodded.

"Indeed!" she moaned. "It is a noble name, of noble lineage! My son is a knight of Camelot! He sits as a trusted counselor at the Round Table of King Arthur himself! And I wronged him grievously! I need his forgiveness, else I shall never know peace!"

"Wait, _what_?!" the young mortal nearly yelped. "Your son is _Sir_ Galahad? Of Camelot?! How can that be?" The woman sniffed is disdain.

"Obviously he is immortal!" she snapped impatiently. "Do pay attention, you stupid girl!"

"That's no way to ask for help, you know," growled Melinda irritably. _How on earth do I get mixed up in these things!?_ she thought, rolling her eyes. What was obvious to _her_ was that this ghost was delusional. She gave a tiny shake of her head, unable to help feeling sorry for the unfortunate spirit. Delusional or not, this ghost also obviously needed her help.

"What, exactly, do you need forgiveness for?" she asked. Cases where forgiveness was required before a spirit could find peace were tricky. If the offended party refused to forgive, it only made the suffering and guilt worse for the uncrossed ghost. The woman leaned over, clasping her thin hands together tightly.

"I conceived him outside of my marriage, you see," she began, her eyes becoming sad and watery. "I tricked his father, Lancelot, into my bed with magic, and my son was bastard born. I brought shame upon my family, upon Pelles, my husband! He banished us from his court, forever! Even after his death, I was held prisoner for my adultery." The ghostly queen's voice gradually became more and more plaintive.

"I was ashamed of what I had done, I was angry with myself for being so weak and foolish! But rather than accept my just punishment gracefully and humbly, I took it out upon my son. I hardened my heart against him, refused to love him. I refused to even _look_ at him or to speak to him! I treated him abominably, said horrid, cruel things to him!" The ghost grabbed fistfuls of her long, salt and pepper hair in her hands and pulled hard.

"I wanted him to suffer as I suffered! I sent him away when he was only a small boy! I sent him to be raised by a cold, unfeeling woman among strangers! He was all alone—no close family, no friends, none to comfort him or to care for him! That was wrong! When I realized how badly I had mistreated him, I repented of what I had done. I tried to reconcile with him before I died, but I was too late reaching out to him. I died before I could tell him! I died before I could beg his forgiveness, before he could hear his mother tell him how much she loves him!" She raised her hands up to Melinda in a gesture of begging and sank to her knees.

"You must help me!" she implored. "You must speak to him for me, tell him everything! Please, mistress! I have heard from other spirits that you have a kind heart; please do not turn me away, even though I deserve it richly! _Please_, convey my words to my son! Tell him, at least, that I love him!" Her pleas were so piteous and sincere that tears came to Melinda's eyes. She raised her hand again to calm the sorrowing ghost.

"I will," she said softly. "I'll help you, I'll tell him, just as soon as the others leave, I promise! Don't worry!" Relief washed over the woman's thin, wan face.

"God bless you, mistress!" she gasped, bowing her head so low that it almost touched the floor. "God bless you and your entire house!"

The ghost dissolved into thin air.

* * *

"I don't see anything here that looks particularly magic-y," sighed Cassandra Cillian Jenkins as she replaced another book back onto the shelf. "Flynn said this Appleby guy was supposed to have a _ton_ of magic books and artifacts, but so far we haven't found a single thing, and the shop'll be closing soon." Her husband nodded his head slowly.

"Yes, it looks as though we'll have to come back to Grandview tomorrow and try again," he said. "This certainly can't be Appleby's entire library. Perhaps the shopkeeper has the rest on his things in storage somewhere. Perhaps we can talk her into letting us have peek at them."

"Speaking of which…" Cassandra began, then gave a tiny nod in the direction of the sales counter. The young woman who had warmly greeted them when they entered the shop an hour ago was now approaching them. "Here she comes."

Melinda nervously approached the old man and the young woman. She always dreaded this part, telling people that they had a ghost attached to them. Things had a tendency to either go really well, or really badly, there didn't seem to be an in-between. Their reactions could range anywhere from relief to outright anger and threats to call the police on her. This guy looked like he might be on the more accepting side of the scale, but you could never tell. She mentally crossed her fingers and put on her brightest smile.

"Hi!" she greeted the pair, and stretched out her hand for a formal introduction. "I'm Melinda Gordon, I'm the owner here." The old man smiled kindly as he shook her hand. The woman, who Melinda guessed was about that same age as herself, smiled brightly and shook her hand as well.

"I'm Cassandra," the redhead introduced herself. She looked up at the tall man next to her. "And this is my husband, Jenkins."

"Husband?" Melinda blurted, surprised. She immediately regretted it.

"Omigod, I'm so sorry!" she hurried to apologize. "I just assumed… I mean… I thought…" She closed her eyes and shook her head while waving her hands in front of her.

"Never mind, it doesn't matter! I shouldn't have _assumed_ anything!" she babbled. _Well this is off to a great start_, she thought.

Cassandra, still smiling, though with a trace of sadness now, reached out to touch the embarrassed woman's arm.

"It's okay, really," she said. "We're used to it."

"You shouldn't _have_ to be used to it, though," Melinda countered sincerely, giving the pair a sympathetic look. "I really am sorry."

"Your apology is wholeheartedly accepted, Ms Gordon," said Jenkins. He felt an instant liking for this young woman; she reminded him a great deal of Cassandra.

"I'm glad you're here, actually," he continued, changing the subject. "We both work for a library, in Portland, Oregon. We heard through the grapevine that you were selling the contents of the Appleby mansion, and so we came to see the items, see if there was anything we might like to purchase. For our library, you see. Would you by any chance have any other items in storage somewhere that we could look at?" Melinda looked up at him blankly, her expression now gone from welcoming to distracted, as if she was listening more to someone else who was speaking. She didn't answer his question.

"Ms Gordon?" he asked. Frowning, he repeated himself when still she didn't respond, exchanged a quick glance with Cassandra.

"Ms Gordon? Are you all right?" he asked, a little more loudly. With a small gasp, she blinked and shook her head slightly, smiled nervously.

"Um, could you excuse me, please? Just for a moment, while I lock up?" she asked hesitantly. "I'd like to talk to you about something in private, if that's okay?" Jenkins exchanged another glance with Cassandra, then turned back to Melinda.

"Yes, yes, of course, Ms Gordon," he answered. Melinda smiled briefly in thanks and then hurried over to finish up with the other customers. When they were all ushered from the shop, she locked the doors and put the "closed" sign in the window. While she was out of earshot, Cassandra laid a hand on her husband's arm.

"Something's going on here," she whispered, her voice worried. "I can't put my finger on it, but something's just…_off_ about her. Not bad or evil or anything like that, just…_off_." Jenkins put his hand over hers and patted it reassuringly.

"Yes," he agreed softly as he carefully watched Melinda. "But I don't think we're in any danger." The shopkeeper rejoined them after several minutes. She now had an anxious air about her as she looked from one to the other.

"This is never easy, so I'm just going to say it," she said after a deep breath. Cassandra and Jenkins looked at her expectantly.

"I have a…gift," she began, her expression earnest. "I can see and speak with ghosts." She paused to let her words sink in. Cassandra blinked and looked slightly dumbstruck, but Jenkins raised his head and narrowed his eyes with interest. Encouraged, Melinda turned to him and continued.

"Have you ever gone by the name…'Galahad', by any chance?" she asked tentatively. A tiny, soft squeak escaped Cassandra and her eyes popped open wide. The old man's eyes remained narrowed, but Melinda saw a flash of surprise in them before they became hard and suspicious as they continued to stare into hers.

"Why do you ask?" he asked calmly, with false lightness in his tone. The fact that he didn't flat-out deny the name told Melinda a great deal. This case was _definitely_ not going to be a typical crossing!

"You have a ghost attached to you," she stated bluntly, fixing her eyes onto his. "A woman. She says that you're her son, and that your name is Galahad. She wants to apologize for the way she treated you when you were little." Melinda saw several emotions pass through the tall man's eyes at her words: Disbelief and confusion, which was normal for everyone she sprang this news on. She then saw a quick flash of anger, also common. To her amazement, she saw hope, just for a split-second, immediately swallowed up by fear. Not fear at the presence of a ghost, but rather the fear of an abused person who knows that their tormentor is near.

Melinda saw Cassandra cast a worried glance up at her husband's face as she reached out to lightly hold his arm reassuringly. That meant that the young redhead knew about the troubled history between the mother and her son. _That,_ in turn, incredibly, meant that what the ghost told her was all true: Melinda was speaking to Sir Galahad of Camelot himself!

"What is her name?" Jenkins demanded, his voice low and tinged with an unspoken warning: _If this is a trick...!_ Melinda glanced off to the side, as if listening to someone.

"She says her name is Elaine," the medium replied. Her expression became confused. "Elaine de Corbinec? And she says that your father's name is..._Sir Lancelot du Lac_?" Melinda looked quickly between the pair. Cassandra looked even more worried as the color drained from the old man's face. He stared at Melinda for a few moments, dumbstruck.

"Where is she?" Jenkins asked, still staring down into her eyes. Melinda started and blinked, nervous.

"She's…right here, right beside us," she answered, intentionally keeping her voice calm so that he remained calm. Jenkins finally broke off his gaze to look around, half hoping and half fearing to catch a glimpse for himself.

"You aren't able to see her or hear her, but _she_ can see and hear you clearly," Melinda explained, still wrestling with the knowledge that she was actually speaking with characters from Arthurian legend.

"Tell him how sorry I am!" Elaine cried out loudly to Melinda. The ghost drifted to stand at her son's side. She wrung her hands with distress. "Tell him that I was wrong to treat him so cruelly! Tell him I know now that what I did was wrong and that if I could go back and change things, I would, with a glad heart! Tell him that I beg his forgiveness! Please!"

Melinda repeated the ghost's words to Jenkins. His body visibly tensed and his weathered face became unreadable, but his sharp brown eyes turned hard as marble.

"Young woman," he said, emotionless. "I don't know what sort of deception you're playing at, but I warn you: You are playing with fire, and you would be wise to stop it, right now." He reached out to take his wife's hand. "Come, Cassandra, it's time to leave." He turned toward the shop door, almost dragging Cassandra behind him. As soon as his hand touched the doorknob, several glass and crystal items throughout the shop exploded. Both women cried out and ducked. Jenkins remained still, unflinching, except to let go of the doorknob. Melinda winced as the ghost of Elaine de Corbinec, her head thrown back, shrieked shrilly and mournfully in anguish.

Jenkins whirled around to face Melinda. His eyes swept the entire room.

"Stop it!" he thundered, furious, causing both Melinda and Cassandra to flinch. He let go of Cassandra's hand and took several steps forward. Melinda, her hands outstretched, took a few steps to meet him.

"Please, Mr. Jenkins! It's not me, I'm not doing this! It's the ghost! She's upset! She doesn't want you to go!" the young woman said urgently. "She's very sorry for what she did, she wants to make things right between the two of you! She just wants your forgiveness! She'll never rest until she gets it! She _can't_ rest!"

"_My forgiveness_!" he spat angrily. "After so many centuries the word is meaningless! I have no feelings on the matter one way or the other anymore!"

"That's not true," Cassandra said quietly. He whipped his head around to look at her.

"Please stay out of this, Cassandra; you don't understand," he said in a tight voice. The Librarian ignored him and came to stand next to him.

"That's not true, either," she said softly, but her voice now had an edge to it as she laid her hand on his upper arm and looked up at him with flashing blue eyes. "I _do_ know what's it's like to feel rejected by a parent! Maybe I didn't grow up with that feeling, but I learned what it felt like later in life, and you _know_ that. So don't tell me that I don't understand, or to stay out of this! You're my husband and I love you—enough to try and keep you from making a terrible mistake!" Cassandra moved around to stand in front of him and took both of his hands in hers.

"I think you _do_ have feelings about all of this," she said, more kindly now. "Otherwise you wouldn't still be so angry and hurt. But didn't you hear what Ms Gordon said? Your mother has been trying to talk to you for over a _thousand_ years! She can't rest or find peace until she does. That should tell you something about how sorry she is! Please, sweetheart, just listen to what she has to say; you may never get this chance again! If you don't, you'll regret it for the rest of your life, I _know_ you will!"

Jenkins stared down into his wife's face for several moments as her argument sank in. She could almost see the anger drain from his eyes, and she felt the muscles in his hands and arms relax. He inhaled deeply and raised his head slightly.

"I'm sorry, Cassandra," he said contritely. "You're right, of course, and I didn't mean to belittle your own experiences with your parents. Please forgive me." She squeezed his hands and continued to look up, fixing his gaze with a piercing look.

"How would you feel right now if I refused to forgive you?" she asked gently. Jenkins dropped his eyes, suddenly ashamed as her point struck home. He let go of her hands and turned his attention to Melinda, waiting anxiously nearby.

"I'll listen to whatever she has to say," he said, giving her a slight nod. Melinda approached and looked up at him.

"She really _is_ sorry," she began. Her eyes darted off to the side, to the ghost of a centuries-dead woman.

"He's listening now," she encouraged Elaine. "Say whatever you want, I'll tell him." Elaine looked over at her son. She clasped her ghostly hands together at her chest as she regarded him, then over at Melinda.

"Tell him…" Elaine began to speak, then paused for a moment. After so many long centuries hoping and praying for this opportunity, she wanted to choose her words carefully, express herself in just the right way.

"Tell him that I was a fool," she said softly. "Tell him that I was wrong to do what I did—to his father, to my husband, to my family—but especially to him." She turned to look directly up at her son. She had been able to follow him throughout most of his life, had been able know about almost all of the highs and lows of his long life, from his very first love to this last one; through the fall of his beloved Camelot and the loss of his friend, Arthur through almost all of the painful events he suffered throughout history. Even though he had known many dark, difficult times that had aged him, even now he was still so handsome!

"When Lancelot rejected me, I was hurt, and my hurt turned to anger," she continued mournfully. "I took it out on him, on my precious baby son, and I am so very sorry! It was not his fault that he was brought into this world—all the more reason, indeed, why I should have loved him and protected him. But I did not. I was cruel and selfish, and I did not realize how cruel I was until he was grown. I heard the stories about him, about how brave and strong he had grown up to be! How noble and good, the best of all knights! I became proud of him—so proud! That my little son had become a knight of Camelot, that he sat at the Round Table of the king himself as one of his most trusted knights and his friend! That he alone was found worthy enough to behold the Holy Grail!" Elaine's dark eyes shone with pride, then became more sober as her words were now directed at him.

"I heard, too, the stories of how Lancelot treated you. I knew he was a hard man, but I thought that he would be kinder to his only son. When I fell ill, I tried to contact you, I called you to my prison so that I could try to make amends for my cruelty. But I died." Elaine's eyes filled with tears.

"I tried to hold on for you! I tried to hold onto this life until I could see you, but I just wasn't strong enough!" She broke down into ragged sobs, and as Melinda described what was happening and telling her listeners what Elaine was saying, Cassandra slipped her hand into Jenkins's, tears beginning to pool in her own blue eyes. Jenkins remained silent and still, his gaze fixed on the floor and his jaw tightly clenched as he listened.

"I have followed you all these many centuries, my son, my heart aching for you as I watched you grow more and more disillusioned with the world, watched you grow more and more embittered as you were betrayed over and over again!" Elaine continued, her thin, pale face wet with her tears. "I am sorry for your suffering, Galahad! I wept each time you were hurt, each time you yourself wept! I wanted so much to help you, to offer you words of comfort, wanted to be a mother to you, but I could not. It was too late for that. I could only watch and wait and pray that I might someday have the opportunity to tell you how sorry I am! To tell you how _proud_ I am of you…" She stretched out her hand and lightly brushed her fingers across his cheek.

Jenkins, expressionless throughout her speech, felt a warmth touch his left cheek and travel faintly along the length of his cheekbone. He felt a tingling surge of emotion in his chest as he somehow _knew_, in the very depths of his being, that it was his mother touching him with affection and love for the very first time in his long life. Overwhelmed by the knowledge, his façade of stoicism crumbled. He raised his hand to his cheek where she had just touched him, and a ragged, wordless gasp escaped him as he squeezed his eyes shut and dropped his head. Cassandra, looking up at her husband with concern, moved her hands to clutch his other arm.

"Jenkins?" she asked. "What is it?" His eyes snapped open and he turned his head. She saw welling tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

"She touched me!" he whispered in an astonished tone, visibly struggling now to control his emotions. "I felt it! Her hand. She touched my face; she's _never_ touched me before, not once!" Tears were also welling in Melinda's eyes.

"Elaine says she's sorry for that, too," she related. The ghost, smiling now, moved to stand as closely to her son as she could. She then stood on her toes and kissed the cheek that she had just touched. Jenkins felt it, and broke down into sobs.

"I want you to know, also, Galahad, that I love you! I love you with my whole heart, my own sweet boy!" Elaine hurried to say as she struggled with the sight of her son weeping before her. She glanced over at Cassandra. "And I am so happy that you have finally found this woman who is so kind and gentle and loves you the way in which you deserve to be loved, and whom you may love in return!"

When Melinda relayed Elaine's words, Jenkins reached out blindly and grabbed hold of Cassandra's hand. He held his breath as he tried to regain control of his emotions. He squeezed her small hand so tightly that she almost cried out, but, not wanting to spoil the moment, she kept quiet.

"Please, Galahad, I beg of you—forgive me for all of the wrongs I have done to you!" pleaded the ghost. "I know that I deserve no kindness from you, not after I have made you suffer so bitterly, but…I have always held out hope that you might still have some small spark of affection left for me in your heart. It is for the sake of that spark that I dare to beg you now for your forgiveness!"

Jenkins dropped his head again and his broad shoulders slumped as centuries of repressed pain, anger and bitterness slid off of them. He gasped loudly, his ancient heart filling with joy and a sense of hope vindicated as one of his most cherished wishes came true at long last. He brought his head up again, his cheeks wet with tears.

"Of course I forgive you…_Mother_!" he rasped, the final word unfamiliar on his tongue, yet inflaming his heart with even more happiness. "All I've ever wanted was to hear you say that you loved me, that you didn't regret having me! I've always hoped that one day I would be able to tell you that despite everything—I have always loved you, too, even though I didn't want to admit to myself!"

His voice failed completely then, and he was unable to say more. Elaine rushed to lay her cheek against his and closed her eyes. The old immortal was instantly enveloped by a feeling of being loved, as if he had just been wrapped up in a blanket, a feeling nearly as powerful as the love he felt from Cassandra, but different. It broke down the last of his resistance, and Jenkins began to weep loudly, sinking slowly to his knees. Blinded by his tears, he reached out to try and take his mother into his arms at long last, only to bitterly remember that he couldn't. He cried out in frustration, and Cassandra, realizing what he was trying to do, slipped herself into his arms instead, wrapping hers around him to hold him as she stood in for Elaine. She held him tightly, rubbing his back soothingly as he sobbed.

"My son," Elaine cooed softly as she knelt next to her child and stroked his head, instinctively trying to comfort him. "My son, do not weep—all is well now!"

Melinda, her role all but over now, watched the three of them as she brushed away her own tears at the happy conclusion. It was hard to get her mind around the fact that this ghost had been trapped on this side for centuries, hoping beyond hope for a chance to make things right with her son. She was convinced now that the old man really was Galahad; if he wasn't, why would he react this way? How else could he know who this woman was? How he was still alive, she couldn't even begin to guess. But the medium had seen a lot of "impossible" things in her short life, why not an immortal knight of Camelot, too?

Suddenly Elaine raised her head and looked off beyond her son and his wife. She rose and stepped away from them, gazing raptly at a place on the far wall that no one else could see.

"What is this?" she asked, almost to herself, then turned to Melinda. "I see a great light…?"

"That means it's time for you to go," Melinda answered her kindly, fresh tears coming to her brown eyes. "Your time here is finally done." Jenkins raised his head at her words, his eyes wide and alarmed.

"What!?" he asked quickly. "You're sending her away? _No!_ Mother, don't go! Not yet! It's too soon!" Melinda looked at him sympathetically.

"It's her time," she said simply. "She got what she's always wanted. She's apologized and you've forgiven her. She told you how much she loved you and heard you say it back to her. That's what was holding her here. Now she's free to cross over to the other side and be at peace." Jenkins looked miserable, but nodded his head in understanding.

Elaine was drawn irresistibly toward the blinding light. For the first time in over a thousand years, she felt tranquil, peaceful. She turned one last time to look at her son.

"Please tell my son to be at peace," she said, smiling fondly, but tinged with sadness. "Tell him that I shall be waiting for him when _his_ time comes. Tell him that I shall wait for as long as it takes." Melinda relayed her words to the old man. Jenkins stood and drew himself up straight, put on a brave face. He stretched out one hand in farewell.

"I shall look forward to that day, Mother," he said, his cracking voice sad and resigned. "Travel well! And do not forget that I love you!"

"And do not forget that I love you!" she replied warmly. Elaine then turned and walked into the light, into the next life. The light disappeared, and a gentle breeze blew through the room, setting some nearby wind chimes softly tinkling.

Jenkins raised his head proudly for several moments as he collected himself, then looked down at his wife.

"I don't know about you, my dear, but I could really use a drink," he rumbled shakily as he dug his handkerchief out of his trousers pocket and blotted his face with it. Cassandra smiled up at him, sniffling and brushing away her own tears. Melinda quickly dapped her eyes with the hem of her top.

"Tea?" Cassandra asked. He took a deep breath, exhaled it.

"Actually, I think this calls for something a bit stronger," he declared. He turned to look at Melinda.

"Do you know a good restaurant nearby, Ms Gordon? One that has some decent wines?" he asked. Melinda sniffled and grinned.

"Actually, I do," she answered. "You can try Rosario's, if you like Italian; it's within walking distance. My husband and I go there a lot, they have a fabulous chianti!" He nodded in acknowledgment, then stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Thank you, Ms Gordon," he said, his dark eyes boring into hers. "For everything. You have no idea what you've done for me this evening; I am in your debt." Melinda put her tiny hand into his and shook it.

"No thanks are necessary, Mr. Jenkins," she said. She narrowed her eyes and cocked her head. "Can I ask just one question, though?"

"Of course!" he answered.

"Are you _really_ THE Sir Galahad?" she blurted out point-blank. Jenkins merely smiled gently and turned to his wife.

"I believe it's time for us to go, Cassandra," he said. "We've already taken up enough of Ms Gordon's time this evening, I think."

"It was nice to meet you!" said Cassandra, shaking Melinda's hand. "Would it be all right if we come back tomorrow to talk about the Appleby estate? That's what we came her for originally, and…" She shrugged.

"Oh, yes, of course! Absolutely!" Melinda exclaimed. "I'll be here at eight o'clock if you'd like to stop by before the shop opens at nine; I'd love to see you again!"

"Eight o'clock it is, then!" said Cassandra brightly. "We'll even bring coffee and muffins for breakfast!" She linked her arm with the tall man's and they headed for the door. Jenkins turned at the last minute to face Melinda. He laid his right hand over his breast, then gracefully bowed to the young woman.

"Until the morning, my lady," he said, a tiny, knowing smile on his face.

Melinda burst into quiet giggles after the pair left. She had met Sir Galahad, alive and well in the Twenty-First Century—married to a beautiful young woman and working as a _librarian_! Melinda continued to grin as she pulled the shades over the storefront windows and turned off the lights, then slipped into her sweater. She couldn't wait to tell her husband, Jim, and her son, Aiden, about this!

Melinda stopped and frowned slightly. No, she _wouldn't_ tell them about it, at least not yet. She picked up her purse and dug out her car keys.

She realized that what she _really_ couldn't wait for was for tomorrow morning to come!

**AN: Thanks for reading, sorry to make you wait for the 'conclusion' of "The Temptation of Elaine de Corbinec"! Written for the Crossover prompt of Librarians Prompt Month.**


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